


According to Plan

by marcasite



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Episode: s08e09 Flatline, F/M, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2487056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcasite/pseuds/marcasite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is that she has been ready to leave the Doctor for months. So she tells herself. Outside of life on the Tardis; paper after paper, class after class only buys you into an exclusive club of endless ends. All of which she does not want, deep inside. All of which <i>he</i> knows that she does not want.</p><p>It makes her uncomfortable. Isn’t she <i>supposed</i> to want this life?</p><p>Lies by omission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	According to Plan

**Author's Note:**

> So queenundisputed over at tumblr asked me if I was going to write a post-ep for Flatline and I debated. I had such mixed feelings about it. Very much a love/hate episode for me. But then this came out, and its angsty but I think maybe shows Clara's strength in resolve. Comments are always welcome as is critique. I could not have done this without rowofstars. Not at all.

Things never go according to plan.

 

-

When she follows him into the Tardis, she can tell by the set of his shoulders that he is already thinking about his next move. He works his way around the console, picking up random objects and tossing them from one part of the room to the other. 

She stands there waiting.

“You should call him back,” he says, and Clara is too preoccupied by his earlier words to respond. She picks at the skin of nails, waiting. She will not ask again. “Or have you not had enough time to prepare your story.”

She shrugs. “I don’t understand you half the time. And yet here we are.”

There is a random assortment of gadgets and tools strewn about the floor. Her foot kicks against something that she shoves to side. She tried to be subtle, not wanting to upset the Doctor even more.

“I think this is a sign,” she tells the Doctor.

“You would.”

Random plumber’s tools lean against the wall. Where did those come from?

The Doctor steals a glance. “I’ll take you back.”

“Not until we’re done,” she replies. 

“You don’t look too upset,” he tells back, and she shrugs again. She isn’t, she could tell him. Or maybe she’s upset enough to not be upset. Maybe working as the Doctor today has finally settled into her. Fall down from the high. 

The day went something went like this: _you travel with the Doctor, you can be the Doctor. You can help the Doctor._

But that wasn’t quite what happened.

“I can fix it,” she says with a sigh. “The parts between us and him.”

The Doctor snorts. “What’s there to fix?”

“I dunno.” She takes a step forward, sending reams of metal across the floor. She flushes and clears her throat. “Seems like there is something that needs to be fixed.”

The Doctor throws the lever to leave.

It doesn’t bother her.

There is still time. He will not say this:

You have to stop lying. One of us has to.

 

-

 

You should know that she had already reached that point – _the_ point, the one where all her lies unraveled around her and spilled out of bottles of wine as she thought about all those choices she’d have to make sooner or later.

Choices that sound strangely like:  
Do I stay.

I can live both lives. It was never an issue when she was a nanny; but failure is strangely subjective. 

This life here, mundane but important.

Coal Hill is nice.

_The Doctor._

The truth is that she has been ready to leave the Doctor for months. So she tells herself. Outside of life on the Tardis; paper after paper, class after class only buys you into an exclusive club of endless ends. All of which she does not want, deep inside. All of which _he_ knows that she does not want.

It makes her uncomfortable. Isn’t she _supposed_ to want this life?

Lies by omission.

 

-

 

“So still lying,” he says to her the next time.

This is on a planet, made up of green parks and yards and yards of sun. Sweat curls at the nape of her neck, too hot. She sighs, dragging her sleeve across her face.

“Says the pot,” her voice is muffled into the fabric. “I haven’t changed my mind. If that is what you are asking.”

“I wasn’t asking.” He’s offended.

“Of course you were. Ask me who is lying now.”

He is aware that she isn’t interested in talking about it, the lies, the choices. He called her out on it the first time on her interrupted date, and then the second time at the school, and maybe even the third or fourth time; neither of them want to talk about Danny and neither of them want to talk about how finally, finally, she is just annoyed at what is happening. He leaves it alone. He can avoid to. 

She lets him too. Her hands press into her hips. She squints into the sun. The park is beautiful, she’s grateful for that. 

“So, you’re still here?” The Doctor asks. Easy to lapse into lies. Her eyes study the line of his jaw. Her fingers curl in her shirt. He steps closer. 

“It’s a nice day, we’re on a beautiful planet…park,” she corrects herself.

“I never asked you to make a choice.”

“You need a new angle.”

“Whatever,” he says.

Then it’s this simple: he steps into her space, (he never moves this close to her and it startles her) and he watches her. She blinks. Then she is so aware of him she doesn’t know where to begin; it is his angles and his face, it’s the sharp and angry lines of his body, it’s how his fingers flex at his side, before trailing up to her jaw. They linger. She feels the pad of his thumb. She breathes and they both catch the bottom of her lip.

Maybe they linger a moment too long. Maybe it’s her shifting closer, her mouth parting again as the rest of his fingers sweep down over her skin. He makes a low sound before pulling his hand away. And the only thing she can think of is nothing at all.

She is flushed. Her hair is in her eyes and she cannot look away.

She’s never wanted to run farther in her life.

 

-

 

There was a previous conversation that went something along the lines of this:

“I want you to stay,” he says.

She pauses. This is new.

“Stay, stay?” This is the right thing to ask. Not: “What if I don’t want to? What will you do then?”

“Does it matter?” The Doctor asks. When did his eyes become so sharp?

Clara snorts, pulling at her hands. Such a bad habit.

“I could do that, you know,” she says.

“Oh I know,” he says lazily.

She’s annoyed though.

 

-

 

Living two lives is not as hard as it sounds.

She just has to learn to lean on truths more, less lies. It’s easier to spread the truth hidden inside the lies that way.

Now he is in her flat again and in her kitchen. There is food of some kind. He still won’t tell her what he’s cooking. 

_Is this ok?_ Always placating herself.

“It’s small in here,” he says. He points a spoon at her. “We should have done this on the Tardis.”

Clara rolls her eyes.

“More room in there.”

She shakes her head, settling at the counter. “Not everything has to be your way. We can’t all be you.”

“That’s true,” he says. “You can’t.”

She’s still not sure when the dynamic shifted, when this became them. She hasn’t blended her lives fully but she has gotten slightly better at the lying. By lack of lies. 

And by blending, she means leaning towards a choice.

They are quiet. Quiet never seemed so easy. She moves into cutting. The knife slips away.

“Damn it,” she mutters.

She drops the knife watching it skid across the counter. She picks up her fingers into her mouth and sucks lightly.

“God,” she says again. Next to her, he pauses. There is a small laugh. “Shut up,” she mutters.

“Here,” He grabs her hand. His fingers are around her wrist. They move to her palm, sliding her hand away from her mouth. He wraps a paper towel around her fingers.

“You’re ridiculous,” he tells her.

“So you say,” she murmurs.

“You need to know.” His eyes narrow. “You’re also a lot of trouble.”

“And I’m still impossible,” she says, and it’s an incredible feeling, that hard, low one that rolls around and sinks to the depths of your stomach.

He makes another noise in his throat. His mouth curves up slightly. He still hasn’t let go of her hand either; she isn’t sure what’s happening, or if she is imagining his glances and quiet movements. It’s easier to pretend. To almost say what she really wants to say but not really say it.

She pulls her hand away first. She allows it to sink slowly to her side. He stares hard at her, still with that sad smile that she doesn’t quite get.

This is not real, she knows.

-

He starts by showing up on a Tuesday. Ah, lost track of time. Then it’s a Thursday. Well, if you’re free. Let’s go. 

You knew he was going to push it; either that or she was going to call him to tell him to come get her. 

Clara is nothing if not sensible.

She knows herself enough that she won’t ever say no each and every time he pops back into her life. It could be a Monday, Wednesday or even a Friday. She knows she will go. Balance, she thinks. She can balance this. These are the only reassurances that she has left.

But she is not ready to give him that.

The balance has shifted after all.

 

-

 

Danny meets her for lunch. 

Saturday. 

It’s almost nice because she knows she had made her choice the moment she stayed, after the train. With a lie.

“So –”

Clara holds up her hand to ward him off. “I know,” she says. “I know what you are going to say, okay?”

“How do you know what I am going to say,” Danny says.

“You would be surprised.”

There’s a table facing out to the streets outside. She’s casual, running errands later. He has to go back to school, easier to prep his class there and its close by. 

“What are you even on about?”

Clara leans back. “Who knows?” she lies. Then she stops, more truths: “I haven’t been that good at the details. I thought I could be but I’m just not.”

“Now, you sound like him,” he mutters.

She closes her eyes, the more things change.

“You do,” he insists.

“I _don’t_ ,” she says, and it’s hard, thinking about him. She frowns and then she says: “He’d hate that.”

“Then you’d be boring,” Danny acknowledges.

Her fingers close tightly around the cup she is holding. The shop is a small space. The music is a little low and Danny picks up his sandwich between his fingers.

“He isn’t so bad,” he says. There is nothing behind that. She looks at Danny, waiting for anything. “The Doctor likes keeping his toys around. You’re a toy. An important toy but still a toy. Take that away from him or move his toy out of his control and he gets upset – like a child would.” There it is.

Her mouth twists. “I’m still not going to tell him.”

“He probably already knows.”

She smiles and the sound of laughter falls to ashes in her mouth. She knew choices had to be made but they were always going to be hers, always. 

“Then I’d be boring,” she says finally.

That was the dangerous part.

-

This isn’t the point that she knew that she was going to live this life. She’s known all along. But it was in that moment when he asked her, asked her in their previous conversation months ago. Not just for him, it would be easier if it were just for him. She could understand it but there is no one reason and he asked her only once – please stay.

And it’s how he’s back into her space again. They are standing in the Tardis, shoulder to shoulder. She inhales. He exhales. 

The Doctor touches her arm, briefly. It’s a ghost of a movement.

Then her elbow, barely. She sighs and looks away.

“What do you want?” he asks. _What is the price of staying?_

“Who says I want something?” she can play his game.

“That’s a stupid question.” He waits. “That’s not really a question – how about this one: what if I can’t give you what you want?”

“Or you won’t,” she deadpans.

He’s serious. His fingers finally settle at the crook of her elbow. “I won’t,” he answers.

This is the fastest they’ve agreed, you know.

-

So it happens.

She stays, they travel. She balances less, craves more. They are each other’s old habit and this is the hard part. The part where she wants more and he is the impossible one. 

“Take me somewhere,” she says quietly. “We’ll both be awkward and make small talk. The night will unravel into a mess and you’ll hold it over my head. Then we’ll both forget.”

He smirks. “But I won’t.”

“I will.”

He shuffles his feet and stares away from her. 

“Don’t you even want to know?” she wonders.

There’s a warning in his voice, “You’ll just end up angry. I'm not interested in the game.”

It’s both a warning and an admission. She is hesitant to read anything else into it. She keeps her gaze settled on the chalkboard. Her throat starts to close, it feels so dry.

So she takes his terms.

 

-

 

Things never go according to plan.

“I told you,” he says.

“You did,” she answers quietly.

He shifts closer. Tonight, she doesn’t think she cares.

She does wait to think about certain things, wants to wait until she’s alone. 

“You pushed.”

“I pushed.” It’s truth.

Clara turns towards the door of the Tardis as they arrive back at her flat. She tucks her clutch under her arm. This isn’t the best dress, she thinks. Her hair loops over her shoulders.

He is behind her, weighing her hesitation so she turns and brushes her fingers over the buttons of his shirt.

Her nails skim the fabric. He shifts away. 

“We never should have done that,” he murmurs, and he looks down. He swallows. His mouth is tight and it’s the most uncomfortable thing, watching this unfold right in front of her this way.

“Maybe,” she says, and she knows it won’t be the first time it’s left unsaid between them.

You would have never let me go.

 

In the morning, the Tardis is gone.

She knows he will be back. They were them. She smiles at the habit of them. Of course there were lies hidden in her truths, you just had to look for them.

Things never go according to plan but sometimes you just have to plan for that.


End file.
